


The one you call strider

by Lady_Elwing



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Lineage, all that is gold does not glitter, not a mere ranger, poem, son of kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 18:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12018435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Elwing/pseuds/Lady_Elwing
Summary: This is a poem about how Aragorn appears to the people seeing him at the Prancing Pony or elsewhere, as a mere ranger or nuisance, and how it contrasts with who he is, and where he comes from.





	The one you call strider

He is sitting in a corner

A black cloak over his grey hair  
A dark shadow over his grey eyes  
A grey smoke over his ashen face.

He is but a ranger  
He is but a traveller  
He is but a highwayman

Look again,  
_mellon_ , look again.

The young men is old now  
The old man isn’t young anymore.

Look at his face  
Look at his eyes  
And hear his words

He remembers  
what he hasn’t seen.

He remembers,  
what he hasn’t heard.

He remember,  
what he hasn’t felt.

Ah but look into his eyes  
Ah but look into his star  
Ah but look into his ring

Grey like the road to Valinor  
Brighter than Eärendil  
Green like flourishing hope

Close your eyes,  
And look again.

Where has he gone?

In his stead,  
You can see the faithful captain  
You can see the fury of the orcs  
You can see the arrow piercing his eye.

He is gone  
before his time.

Shadows  
Ashes  
and a white tree

Another man is standing tall

Grey eyes  
Floppy hair  
and a mighty sword

He falls  
down  
and down

A golden gleam in his hands  
A small token in his hands  
A weakness in his hands.

How stern his father looks  
How noble his father looks.  
How legendary his father looks.

Behold, Elendil is here.

Deep grey eyes  
Long hair  
and white beard

And you do recognize them,  
The Ring of Barahir  
The Elendirmir  
and Narsil.

The sword that once faced the greatest Enemy  
The sword that once shone with such fury  
The sword that once knew the fealty of mankind.

Long gone,  
Utterly forgotten  
and yet always here.

Two brothers  
Two fates  
One line.

Elros

No it isn’t Elrond  
No it isn’t Elladan nor Elrohir  
No it isn’t Eldarion

Elros.

The brother that chose death.  
The brother that chose life.  
The brother that chose a descent.

So many sons,  
and daughters.

So many kings  
and captains.

So many heroes  
and fallen.

Elros,  
The brother who chose mortality and humanity.

Beyond the havens  
Beyond the horizon  
Beyond the sea

You can glimpse it  
You can grasp it  
You can dream it

Númenor  
The isle of the kings of old  
The isle of the queens of old  
The isle of the prideful.

Where mankind rose and fell  
Where mankind was deceived and corrupted  
Where mankind was lost and found

By the sea they were saved  
By chance they were saved  
By humility they were saved.

Before,  
long before the fall.

Remember,  
Remember him and her.

The bird that flew to the sailor  
The bird that flew to the stars  
the bird that flew to hope.

Elwing and Eärendil,  
forever reunited.

Your eyes are blinded now by those grey eyes.  
Your eyes are blinded now by that enchanting smile.  
Your eyes are blinded now by that lulling dance.

She is here,  
among

the warriors  
the kings  
and the captains.

More beautiful than all women.  
More resilient than all men.  
More alive than all elves.

Lady Lúthien

How she dances in those eyes!  
How she sings in those war cries!  
How she prays in those sighs!

For her love  
For her hope  
For her one and true love

Beren.

There in the glint of those dark grey eyes,  
you see that spark.

Thingol’s hall  
Melian’s girdle  
And Menergroth the great.

Days of old  
Days of glory  
Days of defeat.

They are all here.

The inn is too small to contain it all  
The inn is too humble to understand it.  
The inn is too young to even feel it.

This is no mere ranger  
This is no mere man  
This is no mere shadow.

This is the son of kings  
This is the son of elves  
This is the son of maiar.

The renewer  
The elf stone  
The last hope.

But you don’t see it,  
You are a simple man  
You are a lost little man  
You are a tipsy funny man.

He smiles at you,  
from afar.

He nods at you,  
from afar.

He leaves you be,  
from afar.

For he has made a promise that  
no darkness  
no harm  
no evil  
shall touch you and your kindred.

He is content,  
to be hated.

He is content,  
to be ignored.

He is content,  
to be spit at.

For his deepest hope for you is,  
that you remain simple  
that you remain happy  
that you remain ignorant

of all that brews in Mordor  
of all that grows in Mordor  
of all that spills from Mordor.

He is  
One of the dúnedain  
One of the nine  
the last of the Númenorians.

Longshanks  
Strider  
thief.

Foolish little man,  
hush.

Melian is drawing in her Girdle  
Lúthien is drawing out Melkor  
Elwing is drawing in the Silmaril

Foolish little man,  
hush.

Eärendil is sailing away,  
Elros is planting roots,  
Elendil is sailing towards us.

Foolish little man,  
hush.

To fall so low,  
Isildur was so high.

To fall so cold,  
Arvedul was so lost.

To fall so young,  
Arathorn was so close.

Foolish little man,  
hush.

This is Aragorn,  
Son of Arathorn  
Father of Eldarion  
Founder of Telcontar.

He will long be greeted  
He will long be celebrated  
He will long be remembered

After your bones will be dissolved  
After your name will be dissolved  
After your inn will fall into ruin.

He is sitting in a corner,

The last of a line  
The first of a line  
The son of the Maiar.

Aragorn  
Estel  
Thorongil

Dúnadan  
Strider  
Longshanks

Elfstone  
Envinyatar  
Elessar

Telcontar

Your king and captain.  
Your king and protector  
Your king and last hope.

More than a legend  
More than a myth  
Yet, only a human.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a poem prompted by discardedtwigs's promptday sunday :
> 
> write a story or poem about mythology without using the words: tragedy, ichor, god, divine, holy, hubris, altar
> 
> Thank you for the inspiration!


End file.
